


A Secret Singing in Our Fingertips

by Molias



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bathtub Sex, Birthday, Dirty Talk, Finger Sucking, Hand Feeding, Hand Jobs, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Oral Sex, mild exhibitionism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:00:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26734750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Molias/pseuds/Molias
Summary: What Connor is clearly waiting for him to notice, while aiming a suggestive grin his way, is a gigantic marble bathtub tucked behind a wall of thick glass blocks that separates the bathroom area from the living space. "Oh, honey," Hank says, slipping the bag off Connor's shoulder and tossing it on the bed before he pulls him close. "Look what you found for us." He nuzzles into Connor's neck and feels rather than hears his sigh as he relaxes into Hank's embrace."You like it?""I'll like it better when I have you naked and in there with me," he murmurs into Connor's ear. "There's plenty of room for both of us to stretch out in there, looks like."It's Hank's birthday, and Connor has a few surprises up his sleeve when he books them into a luxury hotel room for the night. The huge bathtub is just the beginning.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 21
Kudos: 102





	A Secret Singing in Our Fingertips

**Author's Note:**

> twitter user @robofingering, September 3: I don't think I'm going to do a thread for Hank's birthday this year, my mental health hasn't been great and I don't know if I can commit to regular updates  
> @robofingering, September 5: *starts a 13k word fic thread*
> 
> I cannot be stopped, apparently. Not even by myself.

"Turn right, please," Connor says, just before Hank flicks on his blinker to turn left out of the parking lot.

"Home's the other way, hon," Hank says, but he turns on the right blinker anyway. He's comfortably full from his birthday dinner, Connor's been making doe-eyes at him all evening, and frankly he's ready to get home and lay him out on the bed to show him how thankful he is for a nice night out; still, if Connor has something else in mind, he's happy to be led to it.

"It is," Connor agrees. "But we're not going home. Not yet, at least."

"You gonna tell me where we're headed?"

"Downtown."

"Thanks, wiseass," Hank grumbles. He turns onto the freeway that will bring them east towards the waterfront.

"I'll direct you when we get closer." Connor rests a hand on Hank's thigh and squeezes, the warmth and pressure just this side of being too distracting for Hank to handle while he's driving. He's probably calculated the precise amount of groping Hank can be subjected to before his driving takes a hit from it. "I thought you deserved an additional indulgence tonight."

"You taking me out for a nice dinner was more than enough," Hank says, covering Connor's hand on his leg with his own, "but I guess I won't complain if you have something else in mind."

"Oh, I have several more things in mind," Connor says, in the same tone of voice he uses to say things like "I'd like to purchase a new genital component" or "I've been wearing that lingerie you bought me under my suit all day," and Hank feels the arousal that's been simmering under his skin all night—as Connor flirted with him over dinner and rubbed his foot against Hank's calf under the table and pulled him in roughly by his tie for a kiss just before they'd gotten back in the car—flare up with a rush of heat that washes over him and settles in his groin. He shifts awkwardly in his seat and pointedly does not turn to look at Connor, who he's sure has noticed his reaction. He always does.

Connor leads them gradually towards the river; Hank suspects he's directing them to some quiet and particularly scenic place on the waterfront, but before they can reach the water he squeezes Hank's thigh again to get his attention and points at a bright sign ahead. "Turn in there, please."

"At the hotel?"

Connor nods.

"We're staying here tonight?"

"I dropped a key off with Tanya across the street; she's coming by tonight and tomorrow morning to take Sumo and make sure he's fed."

"This is..." Hank casts his mind back; he's pretty sure he recognizes the name of this place from a news story a few months back about its luxury renovations. "This is the ritziest place in town, isn't it?" He makes the turn and pulls up to the valet stand.

"You deserve the best, Hank," Connor says, and this time his fingers do slide up a little too high on his inner thigh for propriety's sake, especially considering the fact that there's a valet two steps away from their car who's doing his best to ignore Connor leaning so far into Hank's personal space that he may as well be in his lap. 

Hank cuts the engine and hands the keys to the valet with a sheepish grin and a folded-up twenty from his pocket. When he turns around, he sees Connor swinging a small travel bag over his shoulder; he must have packed it and snuck it into the backseat without Hank even noticing. 

"You really booked us a room here?" Hank asks, as they enter the front doors into the quiet, modern-looking lobby. There's a huge glass sculpture erupting from the ceiling over the reservation desk, angular shards and sinuous tentacles in deep green and stark white. He wonders how the staff works underneath it without worrying they're going to get impaled if the damn thing falls, but he can't deny that it looks impressive.

"I did," Connor says. His pace slows, and he turns to Hank before they reach the desk. "Should I not have?"

"Oh no, honey," Hank is quick to say, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pressing a kiss to his temple. "You did great. Just didn't expect to be somewhere so fancy tonight. I'm surprised, is all."

"I think you'll be very pleasantly surprised, when you see the room," Connor says, and before Hank can ask for more details, Connor strides up to the desk and greets the receptionist with a smile.

"Good evening," he says, smoothly. "We have a reservation under Anderson; I have all the information here." He touches the small interface pad set into the counter, and the receptionist smiles and nods as the reservation details come up on her screen.

"Of course, Mr. Anderson," she says. Connor doesn't correct her, of course; there's no reason to, and Connor has no official last name to provide instead. Hank rests his hand low on Connor's back and wonders, for a moment, what it might be like if everyone called Connor that. If Connor would even want it. He's pretty sure he would, but shit, maybe he should ask.

The woman behind the counter continues speaking while Hank's mind drifts, and he tunes back in to hear her say "We have you in our deluxe suite, and your extra request is ready to be brought to the room whenever you'd like; just ring down for it."

"Extra?" Hank asks, and she turns her dazzling customer-service smile his way to explain, but Connor cuts her off as politely as he can manage. "It's a surprise," he says, placing a hand on Hank's arm while offering the receptionist a conspiratorial wink, "for the birthday boy."

"Of course," she says. "We're glad you chose to celebrate your birthday with us, sir, and if there's anything else we can do to help make it memorable, just let us know."

"Uh, sure," Hank says. He rarely spends enough money on anything to remember how intense the service is at expensive places, and he never knows how to react to it. "Thanks."

Connor, of course, navigates it as smoothly as he navigates any other conversation of this nature, and before Hank has a chance to feel too much like an awkward lump beside him, Connor's pocketing the keycard and nudging Hank towards the bank of elevators at the far side of the lobby.

"Birthday boy?" Hank tries to shoot Connor a scowl for that, but his heart isn't in it. "You don't think I'm too old for you to be calling me that?"

"'Birthday distinguished gentleman' doesn't have the same ring to it," Connor says primly.

"No one's going to believe I'm distinguished any more than they'll believe I'm a boy," Hank says, as he jabs the up button. "Birthday old fart, maybe."

"Hmm," Connor says. The elevator arrives and he hits the button for floor 15. "'Birthday bear?" He slides a hand inside Hank's jacket and gropes him through the thin fabric of his shirt.

Before Hank can decide how he feels about that particular endearment, the elevator chimes gently as it arrives at their floor, and Connor pulls his hand away, smoothing the front of Hank's jacket before stepping out to lead him to their room.

"Here we are," Connor says, at the end of the hall. He fishes the keycard out of his pocket and grins, holding it up and away from the door, as he touches his fingertip to the card reader and it turns green.

"No one likes a showoff," Hank says, but he stops Connor in the half-open doorway and kisses him before he can step inside. "Except me," he murmurs, tugging Connor's earlobe with his teeth and relishing the soft gasp it pulls out of him. "So keep showing off for me, sweetheart."

"Well," Connor says, sounding a little breathless, "I did bring you to a luxury hotel room with a private rooftop balcony, if that counts."

"A private—" Hank whistles as he pushes the door the rest of the way open and hits the lightswitch, and sure enough, at the far end of the room he can see a sliding-glass door with a set of chairs outside it and a view of the river at night and the Windsor city lights beyond. "Shit, look at the view!"

"You're missing something," Connor says with a laugh, and Hank pauses halfway to the balcony to take in the rest of the room.

It's large and tastefully decorated; there's a set of plush chairs and a desk off to one side, a nook with a minibar and a coffee machine, and a decadent, pillow-strewn king-sized bed Hank can't wait to pull Connor into.

But what Connor is clearly waiting for him to notice, while aiming a suggestive grin his way, is a gigantic marble bathtub tucked behind a wall of thick glass blocks that separates the bathroom area from the living space. "Oh, honey," Hank says, slipping the bag off Connor's shoulder and tossing it on the bed before he pulls him close. "Look what you found for us." He nuzzles into Connor's neck and feels rather than hears his sigh as he relaxes into Hank's embrace.

"You like it?"

"I'll like it better when I have you naked and in there with me," he murmurs into Connor's ear. "There's plenty of room for both of us to stretch out in there, looks like."

To be honest, it looks like Hank could clone himself and still have room to fit Connor in the tub with both of him; it really is huge. They'd tried to bathe together once, months ago, but Hank could barely fit into his tub at home, as tall and broad as he was, and with Connor in there as well, there hadn't been much room for water; they had laughed and given up after a few crowded minutes together. Hank had apologized, at the time, that he didn't have the space for it, even though he knew a tub the size they'd need wasn't exactly standard issue in most homes. He'd thought that was the end of it, but clearly Connor had been making plans in the background. "You ready for me to take this off so I can get you wet and get my hands on you?" Hank asks, fingering the top button of Connor's shirt. "Or you got anything else up your sleeve first?"

"I did arrange a few things to enhance the experience," Connor says, "if you'd like to take a look in the bag I packed."

"Hmmm, in a minute," Hank says. He undoes the button under his fingers and the next few after that, and pulls Connor's tie from its knot so it hangs loose around his neck. "I got something better to take a look at right here." He kisses the expanse of Connor's chest he's just revealed and pushes his shirt to the side enough to allow him to swipe his tongue over his nipple.

Connor moans and tightens his grip on Hank's biceps. "Oh," he breathes, "Hank, you can't take my clothes off yet."

"Why's that?"

"Because I—"

He's interrupted by a gentle knock on the door.

"I need to be presentable enough to answer that," he huffs, but while he straightens his shirt so his nipple is no longer hanging out, he doesn't bother to button up before he opens the door. Hank shuffles over to the bed to look through the bag while Connor answers the door; he's learned through experience that the cut and drape of these pants does nothing to hide an erection and while it'll be obvious, given the state of Connor's clothes, what they were up to, he doesn't need to be quite that obvious. He hears the quiet murmur of Connor conversing with a staff member and the sound of a tray being set on the table as he pokes through what Connor had packed: toiletries for Hank, clothes for them both to sleep in, and—ah. There's a little bag tucked into a corner that smells like pine and citrus when he opens it to peek inside, and it holds an assortment of bath supplies.

"I found your bath stuff," he says, coming up behind Connor to peek over his shoulder. "What's this?"

"I ordered you a little dessert," Connor says with a smile, "since I didn't have a chance to make you a cake."

"I could go for something sweet," Hank says. He sets the bag on the table next to the tray and presses close to Connor's back while he kisses the side of his neck. "Was thinking of getting you in my mouth, but if there's something else you want me to eat, we can do that too."

"There's time for both," Connor says. He eyes the bag of bath supplies and leans back into Hank's chest. "I admit I had a very particular plan in mind, so I hope you can indulge me."

"Does your plan involve you and me getting in this tub together before I lay you out on the bed over there and have some fun with you?"

"It does, yes."

"Then lay it on me, sweetheart. What do you need me to do?"

"Don't peek in there," Connor says mock-sternly, as Hank's hand makes its way to the covered tray to try and do just that. "Do you want to get the water started? It'll take a long time to fill up."

"Sure thing, boss," Hank says. He shrugs out of his suit jacket first and throws it over the back of a chair where it'll at least look semi-presentable in the morning. Up close, the bathtub is even larger and more ridiculous; it even has two faucets next to each other for the water to pour out of so it fills more quickly. He fiddles with them for a minute until water just this side of scalding comes pouring out, then reports back to Connor, who is outside taking in the view from the balcony.

His shirt's fully unbuttoned, now, and his tie is gone, but it's a good look on him, Hank thinks. He's so used to seeing Connor completely put together; even when he's wearing less formal clothing there's a neatness to his appearance that's rarely absent. It means that moments like these, when he's half-dressed or disheveled at all, feel extra precious and, okay, Hank can admit it: extra hot. Any time he sees Connor a little messy, he just wants to get him messier.

"Nice view," Hank says, as he joins him outside. "You want to have a seat and watch the lights with me?" He eases himself into one of the chairs and pats his lap. "Tub's going to take a long time, I think, so you could come sit with me for a minute."

"You'll distract me," Connor says.

Hank shrugs. "So set a timer. I bet you can guess when it'll be ready, can't you?"

"So long as I'm not so distracted I ignore it entirely." Connor says, eyeing Hank's lap warily. He knows as well as Hank does where things will go if he winds up there.

Hank decides to play dirty. He lets his legs splay wide and drags his palm over his cock, still only half-hard but easy enough for Connor to see. "You sure you don't want to come here and keep me company? I got a nice seat here just for you."

"You're terrible," Connor says, but he sinks down into Hank's lap and kisses him.

"Doesn't sound like you think I'm terrible," Hank rumbles, in between kisses. He eases Connor's shirt off and kisses him across his now-bare shoulders as he whines and shifts restlessly in Hank's lap. "Sounds like this is where you wanted to be, all along."

"Of course it is," Connor says, "but if we flood the bathroom because I got distracted by your hands on my ass, this will be a much less relaxing evening than I'd hoped for."

"Then don't get distracted." Hank gives Connor's ass a squeeze for good measure, then goes back to kissing his neck. "You can multitask, baby, I know you can."

It's mean, perhaps, to press the issue when Connor doesn't want to be distracted, but Hank loves getting him wound up, he loves him on his lap, and hell, maybe he wants to be a little self-indulgent, since Connor's already set on indulging him tonight. If Connor's aim is to spoil Hank, maybe he'll follow his lead and spoil himself for a minute.

"Think we'd get in trouble if I fucked you out here?" He turns Connor on his lap until he's facing out over the river and palms the front of his slacks. Connor bucks into his hand and moans loud enough that Hank wonders if he'd already been thinking about it, maybe from the moment he booked the room. Hank's pretty sure Connor has an exhibitionist streak he hasn't been ready to tell Hank about yet; he's just leaving some breadcrumbs in case Connor wants to follow them. 

"I think—ohh—I think we could manage to get away with it," Connor pants, rolling his hips into Hank's hand. "But we can't, not now."

"Oh, is our time up?" Hank asks. He kisses the back of Connor's neck and enjoys the little shiver he gets in response.

"It is," Connor replies, but he makes no attempt to get up.

"You sure?" Hank kisses Connor's neck again and strokes his cock more deliberately through his pants. "We don't have another minute?"

"No, Hank, we need to go check," Connor protests. With great reluctance, he wriggles off of Hank's lap and disappears into the room; a moment later, Hank hears the sound of the taps being turned off and decides to follow him in.

"We didn't flood the room after all, huh?"

"No," Connor says, "but it was a close call. My alarm went off two minutes ago." He dips his hand into the tub and smiles. "It's the perfect temperature; are you ready to get in?"

"Guess I gotta take all this off first, unless you want to help me out?"

Connor sinks to his knees in front of Hank, and fuck, he has to admit it's a beautiful sight. He lifts Hank's feet one by one and removes his shoes and socks, sliding his hands up Hank's legs to knead at his calves afterwards. He sits back on his heels, holding Hank's gaze as he unbuckles his belt and slowly undoes the button and zipper.

Connor doesn't bother to push Hank's pants down farther than mid-thigh before he's mouthing at Hank's cock through his boxers, LED fluttering as he moans blissfully at the feel of it through the soft fabric.

Hank can't help himself; he buries his fingers in Connor's hair, gently holding him in place as he rocks forward against the hot press of his mouth. "You're pretty eager, huh?" he asks.

"Of course," Connor says, his eyes wide and hungry. He licks his lips as he eases Hank's boxers off, but stands up and starts unbuttoning his shirt without leaning in for a taste. "I don't want the water to cool," he says, when Hank gives him a questioning look, "and as you've already established, you're good at distracting me." He slips behind Hank to slide his shirt off, then slaps him on the ass, hard enough for Hank to bark out a small, sharp "hey!" of surprise.

"Get in the tub," Connor says. "I'll be right there."

Connor's running the show, so Hank does as he's told. He can't hold back a little groan of pleasure as he steps into the tub; he doesn't remember the last time he had a warm soak like this. The water's very hot, and the moment he sinks into it he can feel the tightness in his lower back start to unwind. "Fuck, honey," he murmurs, sinking back until he's fully submerged. "This was a good idea."

"I'm glad you think so," Connor says. "I suspect you'll like it even more once I've joined you." He shucks off his clothing quickly; Hank likes when he gives him a little tease, peels it off layer by layer or shows off some cute underwear he's been hiding away under his clothes all day, but right now he just wants Connor naked and in his lap again, and Connor seems to have the same goal in mind. He pulls something out from under the metal lid of the tray that was delivered, and brings it and the small bag of bath items to the side of the tub.

"Close your eyes," he says.

Hank parts his lips, half-guessing where things are going, and sure enough, he feels Connor press something small against them and then into his mouth. He presses it against the roof of his mouth, and it bursts against his tongue, a tart rush of flavor.

"Raspberries?" he asks. "How did you manage that?" The growing seasons have changed, since he was younger, and they're a bit harder to come by than they once were. Still, they're his favorite; he must have told Connor that, once. It's been a few years since he's had them.

"The hotel gets a small weekly supply from a local farm," Connor says. He hasn't gotten in the tub yet, and he looks gorgeous perched on the edge of it, leaning over Hank with a sweet smile on his face and a little silver bowl in one hand. "I was able to persuade them to set some aside for us." He plucks another berry from the bowl and pops it into Hank's mouth. "I thought you'd enjoy them."

"I'll enjoy them more if you get in with me before you feed me any more," Hank says. He mirrors his posture from earlier, spreading his legs wide and leaning back; this time he grips the base of his cock, for good measure, and gives it a long, slow stroke while watching for Connor's reaction.

"Oh, first I need to—" Connor sets the bowl down and fusses with the bag, pulling out a pair of bath bombs and a little jar of salt. "Let me put these in first."

"Nope," Hank says, gently grabbing Connor's wrist and tugging him forward. "Get in first, then you can drop whatever else you want in after." He kisses the underside of Connor's wrist, then his palm, then he sucks a finger into his mouth and swirls his tongue around it.

Connor is suddenly much less concerned with the items he's piled around the tub than he is with joining Hank in it. He slips in, as neat and soundless as a seal, and settles himself between Hank's thighs. "Don't distract me yet," he fusses, when Hank wraps his arms around Connor's chest to pull him close. "I need to make everything perfect, first."

"You're here, I'm here," Hank says. "We're naked and the water's nice and hot. Sounds perfect to me."

"Mmm," Connor agrees. "That is the most important part, yes." He manages to reach far enough to grab the bath bombs and the salt without leaving Hank's embrace. The bombs are dropped unceremoniously into the water and the bath salts follow suit, once he opens the jar; immediately the tub is filled with an effervescent hiss and a fresh, resinous scent. "I think you'll find perfection can be improved upon, though."

Hank swishes his hand lazily through the water, watching the trails of green and gold fizz their way around the surface. Already he can feel some sort of oil making the water feel softer. A little slicker, maybe. "What's in all that, honey? It smells good."

Connor turns and perches on Hank's lap much like he had out on the balcony; one arm drapes over his shoulder so his fingers can tangle in Hank's half-wet hair, while his other hand traces lazy circles on Hank's chest, drawing closer and closer to a nipple with every brush of his fingers. "Cedar and juniper and sweet orange oil," he says, "plus cocoa butter and almond oil to keep you nice and soft." He squeezes the plush give of Hank's chest as if to demonstrate what softness feels like.

Hank groans a little at Connor's touch. They've been working each other up all night, starting when Connor started flirting so shamelessly over dinner, and while he knows he doesn't want to move things along too quickly yet, wants to tease things out a while longer, he's at that point where every touch from Connor leaves him wanting more. Hank gets so greedy for him, sometimes.

"Soft, huh? You saying I'm too rough?" he growls into Connor's ear. He sucks his earlobe into his mouth, then gives it a pull with his teeth, just hard enough to make Connor gasp. "You usually don't complain about that."

"No, I—" Connor starts to protest, but his words die in his mouth when Hank grabs his ass and hauls him up far enough for Hank to take one of his nipples in his mouth and suck at it messily. Connor whines and ruts his hips forward, pressing his cock into the curve of Hank's gut. There's just enough oil in the water to make things a little slippery; he squirms at the feel of it, the ease of his cock sliding against Hank, and thrusts against him again. "I wanted to—" he starts, sounding as overcome with desire as Hank feels, "you keep distracting me, Hank, I'm—oh!"

Connor thrashes in the water when Hank bites his nipple, then flings an arm out to save the raspberries before the dish gets flooded by an errant splash. "I'm doing this for you, but you're so..." Connor's valiant attempt to monologue about his intentions is eventually defeated by Hank's mouth on his chest, trailing bites and messy kisses up to the sensitive column of his neck and the place just under his jaw that he knows will make Connor melt.

"I'm getting you off-track again," Hank says, and Connor nods. "Baby, you put all this work into setting things up tonight, I think you should let yourself be distracted for a little while. Your mind's always going, you're always trying to make things so good for me."

"You—you deserve it," Connor says. He tightens his hand in Hank's hair, tilting his head back for a deep, frantic kiss. "Everything."

"But maybe you deserve a break, for a moment," Hank murmurs. He kneads Connor's ass, teases one finger down his cleft and back, and chuckles at the low moan he gets in response. "This is all for me, right?"

Connor nods.

"I'm your birthday bear?"

"Oh, Hank, yes."

"You did so much for me already, honey, so you know what I think?"

"What?"

Hank nuzzles Connor's neck while he drags Connor's hips forward so that their cocks brush against each other. "You know I only got one go in me, but you, baby, you can come all night if you want to. So I think I need to take care of you for a little while, wear you out a bit, and then you can pop some berries in my mouth while you recover."

"Then," he says, low and sweet and right in Connor's ear, "I'll lay you out on that big bed over there and see about fucking you so hard you gotta go offline for a few minutes. How's that sound?"

Connor lets out a long, shaky exhale, squeezes his thighs around Hank's, and comes. He's beautiful like this, Hank thinks, shaking and rubbing himself against Hank until he whines from overstimulation and has to stop. He doesn't flush, doesn't sweat, but he still manages to look wrecked; his eyes are wide and he pants quietly, venting excess heat against Hank's shoulder.

"Think about it this way," Hank says, holding Connor close while he slumps against him, loose-limbed and pliant after his climax. "What better gift can you give an old man like me than to make him feel like hot shit getting his partner off a handful of times in a fancy hotel?"

"You don't need," Connor begins, so drunk on pleasure he almost sounds sleepy. Hank wonders how fucked-out he'll sound when he's through with him and his cock twitches in anticipation. Connor moans softly and rubs his own cock, already stiffening again, against it. 

"What's that, honey?" Hank asks.

"You don't need to convince me any more," Connor says. "If that's what you want."

"To make you come so many times you black out for a bit? Hell yeah, that's what I want. Come here."

Connor's already about as close as he can get, but Hank repositions him, spreading his legs wide and settling Connor between them, his back leaning against Hank's chest. He loves having Connor like this, loves to hold him close and touch him all over and rumble praise into his ear about how good he feels in his arms, how gorgeous he is. All the cheesy shit that somehow doesn't feel cheesy, when he's with Connor. It just feels right.

"How's this?" he asks, nosing into Connor's damp hair. "You comfy? Feeling good?"

"Of course," Connor replies. He shifts in Hank's embrace as if he's settling into a more comfortable position, but Hank's pretty sure he just wants an excuse to grind back against his cock.

"You'll get that later," Hank says, squeezing him tighter to keep him still. "Right now I just want to touch you."

"Please," Connor says. He tips his head back onto Hank's shoulder, baring his neck in invitation; it would be rude, of course, not to accept, so Hank places slow, wet kisses across the bared expanse of his neck and shoulder and grins against Connor's skin when he moans and grips Hank's thighs tighter.

"Touch me," Connor whines. He nudges Hank's hands where they're settled low on his waist.

"My mouth isn't enough for you?" Hank asks. "You need more than that?" He sucks a kiss into Connor's shoulder; it would be enough to bruise, if Connor was human, but instead he's rewarded with a deep moan and the stark white of Connor's chassis flickering into view. "More than this?"

"Your know I love your hands," Connor says, slipping his fingers between Hank's. "Please."

Hank slides one hand down to Connor's thigh, then to encircle the base of his cock. "Like this?"

"Yes, yes," Connor pants, thrusting up into Hank's grip. Water sloshes onto Hank's chest and splashes his beard.

"Careful, sweetheart," Hank says. "Don't get too excited."

"I'll get as excited as I want," Connor huffs. "You can't stop me."

"Guess I can't." Hank draws his other hand out of the water and dries it on a towel folded on the ledge around the tub before gently cupping Connor's chin. "Guess I don't really want to stop you." He brushes his thumb over Connor's lower lip and laughs when he opens his mouth eagerly. "You want both hands, huh?"

Connor nips his thumb in reply.

"You better open wide for me, then."

Connor nods and parts his lips, letting his jaw hang slack as Hank pushes his first two fingers into Connor's mouth. He's still leaning against Hank's shoulder, slumped down so that the water laps at his collarbone, and Hank can see his eyes roll back a moment before he squeezes them shut. He moans around Hank's fingers, a deep, broken sound, and sucks them in as far as they'll go, stroking and licking between them with his tongue.

Connor's cock throbs in Hank's loose grip, and Hank tightens his hand, giving it a squeeze before he sets a slow, teasing pace, stroking Connor only firmly enough to make him desperate for more.

"You really do love this," Hank says, his voice rough with his arousal. "Fuck, look at you." He presses against Connor's tongue and grips his chin with his thumb, tilting his head to the side so he can watch his thick fingers disappear into Connor's mouth and slide halfway out again, matching the pace his other hand has set. "Can't decide if I like the look of you with my fingers or my cock in your mouth more," he says. "You're so pretty either way."

Connor hums around his fingers, a muffled, pleased sound.

"I know you like hearing that," Hank murmurs, close to his ear. "How good you look with something in your mouth. You know it's true, but it's nice to be reminded, isn't it?"

Connor nods. He's rocking his hips into Hank's hand, now, meeting each stroke and driving the pace faster as he sends small waves rippling and colliding across the surface of the tub. Hank tries not to think too much about the mess he's sure they're going to make of the bathroom; surely a hotel like this is used to guests going overboard with bathtub sex, though, right? It'll be fine.

He has more important things to think about, shortly; Connor reaches for the hand shoved in his mouth and unfolds Hank's ring finger from where he's curled it to his palm.

"This one, too?" He nudges it against Connor's mouth and waits for his eager nod before pushing it past his lips.

Connor's lips stretch obscenely around his fingers; it's a bit of a struggle to fit them all in his mouth, Hank knows, but Connor's never been one to back down from a challenge.

"Gorgeous," he says, as Connor slurps and licks at his fingers and bucks into his fist. Saliva trickles from his mouth and down Hank's wrist, but Connor's too far gone to care about making a mess and Hank doesn't mind at all.

"You love my hands so much," Hank says, "I bet you wish I was three fingers deep in your ass right now, too."

Connor whines and arches his back, pressing back against Hank's erection where it's trapped between their bodies.

"I need more hands," Hank groans, his arousal increasing the louder and more uncontrolled Connor becomes. "Need to touch you everywhere at once, make you feel so much you can't process it all." He licks Connor's neck, the shell of his ear. "Are you thinking about what's going to happen when I take you to bed later? How loud you'll get when you don't have anything in your mouth to keep you quiet? How good it's gonna feel when I—jesus, Connor—when I bottom out in you?" Hank can't help but groan and rock against Connor's ass, now. "Fuck, baby, I can't wait to feel you, but I want you to come for me first. You're close, aren't you?"

Connor nods and makes a low, incoherent sound around Hank's fingers. "I can tell you are," Hank says. "I want you to." He slows the speed of his hand on Connor's cock and smiles when he gets an impatient, muffled whine in reply. He adjusts his grip, sliding his thumb over the head of Connor's cock on the upstroke, and teases Connor with slow, deliberate strokes until he's desperately rocking his hips up into Hank's hand, trying to encourage him to speed up.

"You need more?"

"Mmm," Connor moans. Hank tries to remove his fingers from his mouth, in case he wants to say more, but Connor's hand clamps down on his wrist, keeping him in place, and he sucks harder. A sound that could just as easily be "please" or a meaningless moan rises from his throat a moment later.

"You'll get more than this, soon," Hank says, jerking Connor faster once again. "I won't put anything in your mouth when I fuck you because I want to hear you scream. That's how good I want to make you feel, Connor, so good you can't help but cry out for me."

Connor moans around Hank's fingers again. One of his hands squeezes Hank's thigh while the other scrabbles for purchase at the edge of the tub, gripping it for leverage as he thrusts up into Hank's hand.

"If we did this outside," Hank says, very quietly, "everyone could hear you. They'd all know how much you love this."

Connor's hips stutter and he gasps around Hank's fingers. Hank's sure he's hit his mark. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

He nods once, a jerky motion nearly lost in the movement of his entire body as he fucks into Hank's fist.

"Maybe I should, then." Hank bites down on the sensitive place where Connor's neck meets his shoulder and squeezes his thighs more tightly around Connor, holding him in place. "Once everyone hears you moaning for me, they'll be jealous knowing I'm the one who gets to touch you like this. They'll all want you but they can't have you."

Connor's entire body tenses, back arching as he wails around the fingers in his mouth and comes. Hank helps him ride it out, slowing his hand on Connor's cock until he's gently teasing the last shudders of pleasure out of him.

"That's it," Hank murmurs, so quietly it's little more than a soft rumble in Connor's ear. "Look at you, sweetheart. Beautiful."

When he comes back to himself, Connor stirs from where he's slumped back against Hank's shoulder and turns to face him, straddling one of Hank's thighs and cupping his cheek to hold him still for a kiss. It's a gentle kiss, at first, nearly chaste if Hank ignores the way Connor's squeezing Hank's thigh between his legs or how loudly Connor moans into his mouth when Hank rests his hands low on his back. Connor's refractory period can be pretty damn short, Hank knows; he wonders if he's ready for round three already.

"Sounds like you might need some more attention," Hank says, when Connor breaks away from the kiss. His eyes are still wide and his LED flutters rapidly, stuttering and flashing like it does when he's overwhelmed with data. "You're still pretty worked up, looks like, which means I haven't worn you out enough yet."

"Not yet," Connor says, with a wink. "But I want—"he breaks off with a sigh as Hank kneads his ass, gently spreading his cheeks apart. "Ohh, I—I want the next time I come to be when you're inside me."

"Inside you," Hank says, thoughtfully. He teases the pad of a finger over Connor's hole, circling it without dipping inside. "You don't mean my fingers, do you?"

"No."

"Maybe my tongue?" He licks into Connor's mouth and feels his cock twitch where it's pressed against Hank's belly. "You don't need to breathe underwater, I can flip you upside down right now and eat you out, if you want."

Again, Hank can tell the idea's landed in fertile ground. Connor pauses for a moment, lips parted, as he considers, but Hank already knows his answer. The rest of it is just for fun, just to see how impatient Connor's feeling. "I want this," he says, wrapping his hand around Hank's half-hard cock. He licks his lips as he feels it swell in his grip.

"I can't—I don't want to wait any longer," he says, finally. "Take me to bed. Please."

"Hmm," Hank says, as if he's considering the question. Weighing the pros and cons. "You had a whole berry plan though, right?" He plucks one from its dish, which had miraculously avoided being flooded by bathwater, and pops it in his mouth before Connor can protest. "Fuck, these are good. You sure you don't want to take care of that first?"

"I've amended the berry plan," Connor huffs. "Bed, then dessert. That's the plan."

"You _are_ in charge of the evening's activities," Hank admits. "Bath's getting a little cold anyway, but I'll be sad to leave it." He nuzzles Connor's neck. "You did good, finding this for us."

Connor preens a bit at the praise. "I'm glad you approve," he says.

"Of course I do. Nice view, big tub, big soft bed..."

"Which you've yet to pin me down on," Connor says, pointedly.

Hank laughs; clearly whatever patience Connor's been holding onto has vanished. "Christ, you're eager tonight," he says. He gives Connor's ass another squeeze, rougher than before, and Connor's eyes flutter shut as he moans and shifts above him.

"I have been thinking about you making love to me in an enormous bed in a top-floor room with a waterfront view for weeks," Connor says. "There are days when it's been difficult to think of anything else." He drapes himself against Hank for a slow, languid kiss and stretches a leg behind him to the other side of the tub; a moment later, Hank feels the water slowly draining away.

"Guess I shouldn't make you wait any longer," Hank says, as he hauls himself up, "since you seem to know exactly what you want." He grabs a couple of thick, fluffy towels from a shelf near the tub and passes one to Connor before wrapping the other around his waist.

"I do," Connor says. He places a hand on Hank's bare chest and teases his fingertips through the silvered curls there before he grabs Hank's hand and pulls him backwards towards the bed. "Sit," he says, patting the soft white duvet, and Hank does, watching Connor wring his hands in a little burst of nervous energy as he does so.

"Are you gonna tell me what it is?" Hank asks. "You know I'll do anything for you, but I need to know what you want, first."

"Maybe it's selfish," Connor starts, but Hank shakes his head and pulls him closer, bracketing him close between his spread legs and squeezing Connor's hands in his own.

"Hey," he says. "Look at where we are right now. Look at this wonderful surprise you put together for me. You want to be a little bit selfish about how I fuck you, you go right ahead. You've earned it."

"I said I wanted you to pin me down, and I do," Connor says, "but more than that, I want—I want you to take your pleasure from me, however you want to. You don't need to be careful with me."

Hank feels the hot, prickling sweep of a flush from his cheeks to his collarbone. It's not their usual approach to sex, but Hank knows Connor likes him to throw his weight around a little, sometimes, and fuck, Hank has a lot to throw around. It's nice to be with someone who appreciates it. 

"You want me to be a little rough, honey?" Hank asks. He tugs Connor's hand, bringing him closer, but when he moves to sit on Hank's lap, Hank shakes his head and looks pointedly at the floor. Connor sinks down to his knees and leans in to kiss Hank's inner thigh, where the towel's ridden up a bit.

"If you like, of course," he murmurs against Hank's still-damp skin. "You know you can't break me."

"You want me to try?"

"I want you," Connor says, pulling the edges of the towel free, "to do whatever you like with me. I don't want you to be careful."

Hank's used to being careful, with partners; a guy his size pretty much has to be, he thinks, if he wants to make sure anyone who shares his bed has a good time. Some folks got off on him being big, sure, but it didn't mean he wasn't going to be aware of how he took up space, or how much prep they might need if he was going to fuck them. Even though he hadn't been with anyone at all for a few years before Connor, those habits had still been ingrained in his muscle memory when they started sleeping together.

They were so ingrained, in fact, that it took Connor raising the issue several times, slightly more pointedly each time, before Hank realized Connor was asking him to be less careful with him not because Connor thought he didn't need or deserve that consideration, but because sometimes he preferred not to have it.

"Whatever I want, huh?" Hank pushes Connor's hands away from his lap and finishes unwinding the towel himself.

Connor's lips part, and he leans forward reflexively; Hank settles a broad hand on the crown of his head and holds him back.

"I know you liked sucking my fingers," Hank says, "but this is what you really want, isn't it?" He grips the base of his cock and strokes himself leisurely while Connor leans against his hand, desire radiating off him in waves, and moans in agreement.

Hank coaxes Connor forward with a tug of his hair, then holds him still while he rubs the head of his cock over his lips and cheek, smearing precome across his skin.

"Open up, honey," he says, once he's marked up Connor's face to his liking. If he could come twice in one night, he thinks, he'd come on Connor's face first, just to get him even messier. He wouldn't even let him wipe it off until he came a second time. He groans a little at the thought of it, and at the sight of Connor licking his lips as he opens for him, but once he pushes his cock inside Connor's hot, wet mouth—roughly, because he knows Connor can't choke, and because he knows he'd want Hank to do it even if he could—he can't think of anything other than how incredible it feels. 

Connor groans when Hank's cock slides across his tongue, a deep, hungry sound that reverberates through Hank's entire body, fully awakening the arousal that's been simmering in him all night. He's enjoyed teasing Connor a bit, enjoyed distracting him and taking care of him in the bath, but there's only so patient he can be. Only so long he can delay his own gratification, especially when he knows Connor would tell him, if his mouth wasn't stuffed full already, that he shouldn't hold back at all.

Hank tightens his grip in Connor's hair and holds him still as he rocks forward, thrusting back into the tight channel of his throat. It punches a tight, surprised sound from Connor but when Hank glances down, worried he's moved too quickly, Connor flutters his eyelashes at him and strokes his tongue along the bottom of Hank's cock as if to invite him deeper.

"You're the only one who's ever been able to take me like this," Hank says, as he ruts into Connor's mouth in earnest, alternating bursts of short, sharp thrusts with long, slower rolls of his hips that reach impossibly far into Connor's throat. "Fuck, you're amazing. Like you—" he trails off into a rough moan, hips stuttering as Connor swallows around the head of his cock. "Jesus, like you were made for this. Made for me to fill you up."

Connor whines at that, almost a whimper, and when he glances down Hank sees tears in his eyes. "You like the thought of that, huh?" Hank cups Connor's cheeks in his hands, brushing the tears from his eyes as he fucks deep into his mouth at a slow, steady pace. Connor blinks again, swallows again, and Hank has to bite his tongue and look away to keep from coming down Connor's perfect fucking throat.

And it's—shit, Hank doesn't know if it's how he should think, or if it matters at all, but there's a part of him that likes the thought of it too. It doesn't make sense, he knows; those Cyberlife assholes didn't scan his dick and design Connor's body to accommodate it perfectly. He wasn't made for Hank, he _chose_ Hank, which he knows is better, but it doesn't stop him from thinking about it as he fucks Connor's mouth and strokes his cheeks with his thumbs.

 _You're mine_ , he thinks. _You're mine and I fit inside you like you were built to take me._

It takes a supreme act of willpower on Hank's part to pull out completely, before he allows himself to get too lost in the hot suction of Connor's mouth and the slick press of his tongue; he's the one in danger of getting distracted, now. "All right," he says, holding Connor still before he can lunge forward and take him back into his mouth. "If I let you suck me all night, we'd never get to what you really want."

"What I really want," Connor echoes. "Please, Hank."

"Ask for it." Hank lets go of Connor's hair and cups his chin in his hand, stroking the pad of his thumb over Connor's lower lip, still wet with Hank's precome and his own saliva. "Ask nicely for exactly what you want me to give you."

There's no hesitation in Connor's voice, no shame, and Hank loves him for it. "I want you to fuck me, as hard and as rough as you like. I want you to remember I'm unbreakable and treat me as such. I want you to come in me, and I want to be so overcome with pleasure when you do that I have to shut down." He licks his lips, and the sight of his soft pink tongue makes Hank's cock twitch. "I want to make you lose control."

Anticipation thrums under Hank's skin; he aches with the desire to press Connor to the bed and bury himself in him. To undo the calm Connor seems to feel even now, when he's asking Hank to fuck him senseless. "On the bed, then," he says, dropping Connor's chin and standing. On impulse, he strides to the balcony door and slides it open; a cool, early-autumn breeze wafts in, as well as the distant sounds of cars passing below and ships out on the water. "In case you want anyone to hear how good I'm giving it to you," he says, as he approaches the bed and admires the way Connor's arranged himself on it, an artfully casual pose that shows off his long legs. "Or if you just need to show off. Let them hear how beautiful you sound when I'm balls-deep in you."

How many other people on this floor have balconies, how well the sound will carry, he doesn't know; what he does know is that Connor loves the thought of being overheard, and Hank loves to give Connor whatever he wants.

He stands at the foot of the bed and strokes his cock, grinning at the way Connor stares at it, glassy-eyed and transfixed. "You sure you're ready for me?" he asks, just to see Connor's brow furrow in frustration. It's fun to draw things out a bit, although his own patience is wearing thin already.

"I don't know how much clearer I can be," Connor says, "that I want you to fuck me."

"Show me," Hank says, sharply. He kneels on the bed and slaps the side of Connor's thigh. "Turn over and show me."

Connor rushes to comply. He scrambles onto his knees, leans on one forearm, and reaches back with his other hand to spread himself open for Hank. "I'm wet," he pants, and Hank can see it, the glistening sheen of his internal lubricant. He doesn't always initiate the lubrication protocol before sex; sometimes it's nice for Hank to lube him up himself, loosen him up with his fingers, with his mouth. Connor clearly doesn't have the patience for that, tonight, and if Hank's being honest with himself, he's not sure he does, either.

"I want to feel myself stretch around you," Connor says desperately. "I'm ready for you."

"Christ," Hank groans. They haven't done this before, haven't had Hank sink into Connor with no prep at all, fancy self-lubrication or no, but Connor can't say something like that and expect Hank to resist. "You want to feel me, honey?"

Connor nods and braces his other forearm on the bed.

"I said you'd get what you want," Hank says, leaning over Connor's body to growl in his ear, "so let's hope you're as ready for it as you think."

He doesn't even tease Connor by rubbing the head of his cock around his hole, smearing lube & precome over his skin. He lines up, breathes in, & presses forward. 

Connor inhales sharply as Hank first enters him, followed by a high, shaky sigh as the initial resistance begins to fade away and his body welcomes Hank in. It's incredible; Hank can feel the responsive material of Connor's internal biocomponent relax and stretch to accommodate him, but it's a snugger fit than usual as his body rushes to respond.

"Oh, fuck," Hank groans, snapping his hips forward almost on instinct, trying to bury himself completely in Connor. He grabs Connor's hips and yanks him in close, grinding into him so that he can feel every thick inch of his cock.

"Is this what you wanted to feel?" Hank asks. He withdraws halfway and pulls Connor's hips back to meet his thrust forward. Connor gasps and tightens around him further in his surprise.

"Yes," he breathes. "It's so—" he breaks of into a sharp cry as Hank thrusts into him again, setting a slow, relentless pace. It's hard to hold back at all, to keep himself from plowing Connor into the mattress as hard and fast as he can, but he doesn't want this to be over too soon. He wants Connor to scream loud enough to be heard down on the street before they're through.

"I feel," Connor starts again, every few words punctuated by a whine or a moan Hank's fucked out of him. "I'm completely full, like I can barely—barely fit you inside."

"Good thing you can, because I don't—" Hank pushes Connor's shoulders down, forcing him to arch his back and tilt his ass up invitingly, and thinks he's going to lose his fucking mind at the sight of it, at the feel of his slick heat almost pulling him in when he pulls back, like Connor can create some sort of internal suction. "I don't think I could stop myself, if you couldn't."

He can, of course he can, and if Connor needed him to he would in a heartbeat, but Hank loves the thought of being so overcome with lust and desire that he's truly unable to keep himself from plunging over and over again into Connor's body. He wants to feel that out of control, and he knows Connor does, too.

"Don't stop," Connor cries, almost frantic. "You can't stop, I need—" he buries his face into the thick duvet and wails into it as Hank leans over him far enough to wrap a hand around his cock.

"Don't hide from me," Hank says. He forms a loose fist around Connor's cock, just tight enough for him to feel it each time Hank bottoms out and rocks him forward. "I want to hear you, remember? I want everyone to hear you. You want them to know how good I'm making you feel, right? Let them hear it."

Connor glances back over his shoulder. He looks dazed and disheveled, half-drowned by desire, and the sight just makes Hank want to mess him up more. It's so rare that Connor's neat, put-together demeanor unravels at all, even in bed, and Hank's hungry for more of it. He tangles his hand in Connor's hair and tugs, just a bit, just to hear him moan louder.

"I want to hear you," Hank repeats. "Come on, honey, doesn't this feel good?"

"So—so good," Connor pants. "Please, Hank, I need—" Hank tugs his hair again, more sharply, and he breaks off into another wail, gasping and shaking underneath him. "Oh, please," he says, repeating it with every thrust. "Please, Hank, please, I—"

"What do you need?" Hank asks. He slows down as he leans over Connor, pressing his weight into him and moving his hand back to his shoulders to keep him pinned and still. He squeezes Connor's cock roughly and slaps his ass with the open palm of his hand. Connor cries out and rocks back into him but doesn't answer.

Hank decides he'll have to figure it out on his own.

"You need to be filled up more, is that it?" He asks. He's still fucking into Connor more slowly, grinding into him to hit those sensitive wires and sensors deepest inside, and he slows down even more as he rubs a finger around the place where he and Connor are joined, slicking it up with the lube that's leaked out of Connor's hole. There's plenty of it; Hank's finger is nice and slippery in no time.

"What do you think?" Hank asks, pressing the pad of his finger around Connor's entrance, already stretched wide to accommodate Hank's cock.

Connor whines, pushing back insistently, and Hank takes it as a green light. "You're insatiable," Hank growls, as he pulls nearly all the way out and works his finger in alongside his cock, moving achingly slowly despite Connor's best efforts to wriggle back and speed up the process. It's one thing to be rough, Hank thinks, but he still wants to act with a little extra care, the first time he does this. He's never fucked Connor with anything bigger than his own dick—which is plenty big on its own, of course—and he knows Connor wants Hank to treat him like he's unbreakable, but still. Still, he's precious. Even when Hank's trying to give him the goddamn ride of his life.

"I can't get enough of you," Connor pants, still rocking his hips back against Hank's cock. Against his hand. "I always want more."

Hank understands, he thinks, what Connor means. He feels that same pull, that same hunger to be closer to Connor, take more of Connor into himself and bury himself deep inside him in turn, every fucking day. He's still surprised, sometimes, by the intensity of it.

Surprised, too, by how smoothly his finger slips inside Connor. He works it in slowly; even slicked up as it is, even as Connor's body has finally adjusted to the thickness of Hank's cock inside him, it's a tight fit. Connor accepts his finger eagerly; it's a slow slide but Hank meets no resistance.

Hank's free hand settles on Connor's back, rubbing slow circles at the top of his spine instead of pinning him down, this time, but he increases the pressure just a bit when Connor starts to lift his shoulders up and he takes the hint immediately, sinking back down onto his folded forearms. "You're gorgeous like this," Hank murmurs. "How does it feel?"

"I'm so full," Connor moans. He shifts his hips, adjusting to the feeling, then pushes back insistently. "Keep going, please. I need you."

It's a bit of an awkward position, with a hand half in the way, but Hank makes do; he can't fuck into Connor as deep, but the feeling of being stretched wider is clearly doing a lot for him on its own, if the sounds he's making, which get louder and louder as Hank picks up the pace, are any indication. And fuck, it's...it's doing a lot for Hank, too, seeing how readily Connor can take more. How badly he wants it. He thinks, suddenly, of working his whole hand into Connor, seeing the look on his face when he's buried up to the wrist in him, and—

"Oh, fuck," Hank groans. He can't last much longer, not with that image in mind. "Baby, I'm—I—"

"Come in me," Connor cries out, almost frantic. "I need to feel it."

Hank does lose control, then, which he knows is what Connor wanted the entire time. He grabs Connor's hips with both hands and slams into him, pulling him back and up as he ruts into him, faster and harder than before. It's graceless and frantic, and Hank can't even pull together the presence of mind to give Connor some dirty talk while he loses himself to the feel of him; he just grunts and sweats and fucks into him as deeply as he can, seeking the release he's been building towards all night. He sees white blooming under his hands from gripping Connor so tight, the edges of the patches flickering and spreading as Hank adjusts his grip.

Something about the feel of plastic under his hands and the intimacy of seeing beneath Connor's skin is the final push that sends Hank over the edge, the wave of his arousal cresting and breaking as he hauls Connor back, buries himself deep inside him, and comes. Connor grinds back against him with a high, staticky sound, then slumps down on the bed, LED dark. Hank collapses on top of him, not even bothering to pull out—which he knows Connor will appreciate, when he comes to—before he lets his body drop, a dead weight pressing Connor further into the soft duvet. He brushes Connor's hair back from his face and traces a fingertip over the lightless circle of his LED, watching for the moment light returns to it.

It doesn't take long. A minute later, maybe two, and the light at his temple glows yellow, then blue. Connor shifts subtly beneath Hank, arching his back and clenching weakly around his softening cock. "Mmm," Connor sighs. "You know I love feeling you still inside me when my systems come back online."

"I do know that," Hank murmurs. He kisses the back of Connor's neck, his cheek, the sensitive spot just behind his ear. "That's why I'm still here." He rolls his hips lazily; it's almost too much, as close to overstimulated as he is just after orgasm, but it's worth it to hear the soft, sharp gasp that Connor makes when he does.

"Hold me a while?" Connor lifts a shoulder, encouraging Hank to roll to one side, and he does, pulling Connor with him and wrapping an arm around his chest once they've settled on their sides.

"As long as you want," Hank says. "I'm not going anywhere." He lifts a leg to drape it over Connor's and cocoon him more completely, but winces and reconsiders when his lower back protests. "Shit, especially if my back has anything to say about it. I might have, uh, gone at it a little too hard at the end, there."

"Just hard enough, if you ask me," Connor says, with a saucy wiggle of his hips. "It was perfect."

"There is a bottle of bath oil among the items I packed," he says, after a moment's pause. "I'm sure I could repurpose it, if you think a massage would help." His voice gets softer, dreamier. "Perhaps another hot bath in the morning, followed by a long, leisurely massage?"

Hank snorts. "I can't tell if you're serious, or if you just want an excuse to get me in that tub again and grope my ass afterwards."

"Can't it be both? We have a late check-out time tomorrow; I'll have plenty of time to take care of you thoroughly." Connor turns in Hank's arms, pouting for a moment as Hank's softened cock finally slips from inside him, and kisses him hungrily. "Let me keep spoiling you. I don't get the opportunity nearly as often as I'd like."

It's true. Hank's not always comfortable letting Connor dote on him when he's in that particular mood; he's become more used to it, more accepting of the fact that Connor truly wants to pamper him sometimes, but feeling like he's not worth the trouble is second nature, even now. Still, he thinks, look where it's gotten him tonight: Connor happy and well-fucked in his arms, a window open to let in the cool evening air, and the promise of a good night's sleep on a luxury hotel mattress. Plus...

"Wasn't there another treat over there for me?" Hank nips Connor's earlobe and tugs it gently between his teeth.

"I'll get it for you, if you agree to a massage in the morning," Connor offers, smoothing a hand down Hank's back to press precisely at the sorest spot.

It's not difficult to say yes, then. It never is.

Connor slips out of bed and returns wearing a thick, soft white robe, with another draped over his arm. "Let's sit outside to eat," he says, offering the robe to Hank. "I'll join you in a moment."

Hank stretches and groans as he hauls himself out of bed; he can already tell his back will be even more sore tomorrow, but he can't bring himself to regret the overexertion. The robe Connor brought over is plush and warm, and Hank's pleasantly surprised to find that it's sized generously enough for him to tie it shut with no difficulty. He slips out onto the balcony and takes a moment to lean against the railing and peer down to the river below. It's late, probably close to midnight, but there's still a steady stream of cars crossing the bridge, and in the distance he can see the lights of a tugboat reflecting on the water.

The wind picks up; it isn't cold, not quite, but there's a chill in the air that wasn't present only a few days ago, and Hank's glad the robe is thick and long enough that he finds the wind bracing instead of uncomfortable. He tends to run hot, after all.

Hank surprises himself, sometimes, when he feels content and peaceful in a way he'd assumed, for a long time, he'd never be able to experience again. Even though things have been getting better for months, even though the fact that Connor loves him is no longer something he has to keep questioning because he can't quite believe it, there's a part of him that's startled and confused every time he just feels...happy. But he thinks, as he stares at the lights passing by below and the dark sky overhead, that he might be getting used to it. There's something a little frightening about that, in a way; to accept that happiness is part of his life is to admit that he has something that could, once again, be taken away. Still, though, he's finally ready to admit he'd rather have something—someone—he loves, even if he runs the risk of losing him, than wall himself off from the possibility altogether. Than deny himself the opportunity to feel happy.

Before Hank can get too tangled up in his thoughts, there's a small clatter behind him, and Connor's arms wrap around his waist. "Enjoying the view?" he asks.

"Yeah. " Hank chuckles when Connor's hand weasels its way inside his robe and squeezes his side. "Can't keep your hands to yourself, can you?"

"With you around?" Connor squeezes again, then slips his hand up to brush his fingertips over Hank's nipple. "I don't know why I'd want to." He removes his hand and fussily tugs Hank's robe closed where he'd pushed it open. "Come and sit with me."

"Sit with me" means, of course, "let me sit on your lap;" Hank knows Connor well enough to know he'll take any opportunity to sit on his broad thighs, and he's always happy to indulge him.

"This looks good," Hank says, once they're settled, eyeing the plate Connor's holding. The remaining berries are scattered around and on top of a small, decadent-looking cheesecake. "Can I have a bite?"

"Of course," Connor says smoothly, neatly cutting a corner from the slice and scooping it up along with a raspberry. He slides it into Hank's mouth, watching eagerly to gauge his reaction. Hank's of the opinion that even a pretty bad cheesecake is generally going to be worth eating, but this one, unsurprisingly, is fucking superb. "How is it?" Connor asks, even though Hank knows it's obvious. It's part of the conversation they have every time Connor gets in the mood to slip into Hank's lap and feed him a few bites of whatever he's eating.

"It's good, honey," Hank says, once his mouth is no longer full. "You picked a winner." He savors another bite, considering the flavors. "Is it lemon? Lemon and something else, maybe?"

"Lemon and almond," Connor says, pleased. "Here." He hands Hank the plate but not the fork; this, too, is familiar. Connor needs a spare hand free, after all.

They don't talk much, as Hank eats his cheesecake. He murmurs a few comments about how good it is—and it really is delicious, it's no hardship to say so—and tilts his chin up for a couple kisses, but for the most part it's quiet between them. Quiet and comfortable.

Connor alternates bites of cheesecake with raspberries; Hank suspects Connor chooses to pop most of the berries in his mouth by hand so that he can slide his fingers into Hank's mouth as well, or brush them against his lower lip long enough for Hank to give them a kiss, and play it off as unintentional. His other hand sneaks inside Hank's robe and idly caresses his chest, the soft side of his belly, the back of his neck; they're light touches, just enough to keep Hank grounded in the present moment. 

Hank rests a hand on Connor's thigh and gives it a gentle squeeze. "You did so much for me, tonight," he says, in between bites. "Dinner would have been enough, more than enough, but all this is perfect. You know what I like, sweetheart."

"You like me," Connor says, leaning in for a kiss.

"Guess my secret's out," Hank murmurs against Connor's mouth. "What gave it away?"

"You're pretty easy to read."

"I've always been a heart-on-my-sleeve kind of guy," Hank admits. "Not great at hiding things."

"I wonder," Connor says. He looks almost pensive as he spears another piece of cheesecake. "There are some things I still can't predict. Answers I'm not sure of."

"Uh," Hank says. He tries to make sense of that sentence while he chews. "What are you worried about?"

"I'm not worried," Connor says, hurriedly. "I only—I didn't mean to say anything."

Hank sets the plate down on the balcony and gently pries the fork out of Connor's grasp, setting it on the plate before he takes Connor's hands in is own. "Hey. Connor. What's on your mind?"

"I wanted—I'm already starting wrong," Connor begins, but Hank shakes his head.

"Nothing's wrong," he says. "Or at least if it is, it's not because you did anything." He presses Connor's hands to his mouth, kissing each knuckle in turn. "Can you tell me about it?"

Connor wheezes out a short, sharp laugh, a sound Hank's never heart before. He tips forward, resting his forehead against Hank's. "I had a plan," he says, quietly. "I was—" he huffs out another laugh. "I was going to do it at the perfect moment."

Hank feels, suddenly, like he's frozen in place. Like his hands have gone numb. "What were you going to do?" He thinks he knows, but he has to ask. He can't answer a question that hasn't been spoken aloud, and if it's—

Hank cups Connor's face in his hands and kisses his cheek. "I think you should go ahead and do it, sweetheart," he murmurs. "If you still want to."

If it's what he thinks it is, if Connor's had the same thought in the back of his mind that Hank's been mulling over for months, then Hank wants to know. He wants Connor to ask, because he wants to say yes.

"This feels like a pretty perfect moment to me," Hank says, and maybe he needs to stop talking, needs to give Connor room for whatever's on his mind, but he also needs to let him know that nothing's going wrong, that he can't ruin a plan just by being nervous or saying something he meant to keep to himself. "You're here with me. We're in big fluffy robes, getting nice and cozy." He puts his hand on the back of Connor's neck and lets his fingers trail under the thick collar of the robe, where they can rub encouraging circles at the top of his spine. "We soaked in that nice big bath together. That all adds up to perfect, don't you think?"

"Yes," Connor says. "I suppose it does." He laughs again, but this time it sounds like relief. "I spent so much time rehearsing what I wanted to say to you, here, and I think I'm going to ignore all of it." He loosens his robe a little and places Hank's hand over his thirium pump before settling his own hand over Hank's heart. Hank feels the steady, reassuring pulse under his palm and waits for Connor to continue.

"I don't know how to tell you," Connor says, "how much you mean to me. How deeply I love you. It would take a lifetime."

Hank's eyes prickle with tears. He wants to say something, to tell Connor he feels the same, but he lets him continue. He'll have his chance in a moment.

"I _want_ to take a lifetime, Hank. I want you to know that I intend to spend all of it, whatever time we both have, together with you. Loving you."

"I don't have a ring," Connor continues, words tumbling out in a rush, "because I'd like to pick them out together, if you say yes." He pauses, looking at Hank expectantly.

"Sweetheart," Hank murmurs, "technically, you haven't asked me anything yet that I can say yes to."

"Oh, I—I'm proposing to you," Connor says. "I'm asking you to marry me. Please."

Hank can't hold the tears back any longer, but it doesn't matter; he pulls Connor close and kisses his cheeks, his mouth, the curve of his jaw. He wants his answer to be clear in every touch, every press of his mouth.

"Yes," Hank says, voice rough and thick with emotion. "Fuck, Connor, of course I will. Everything you said, spending a lifetime loving me, I—"

He chokes on a sob rising up in his throat and holds Connor tighter. "I want all of it. I wish I had more time, but however long I have, I'm yours." He takes Connor's left hand and kisses his ring finger. "Let's go soon and find some rings we both like."

"I'd like that," Connor says. He's crying too, now, and he shakes his head when Hank tries to wipe the tears from his cheeks. "It's fine," he says. "I'm just—I'm so glad."

"Did you think I'd say no?"

"Not unkindly," Connor says, quickly. "I didn't expect to be rejected entirely. But I know you had an unsuccessful marriage before; that could easily influence your opinion on marriage in general."

"I have a better feeling, this time," Hank says. "I think this one's gonna stick."

"I think so, too." Connor leans into Hank, resting his head on his shoulder, and sighs, deep and satisfied.

Hank strokes his hair and closes his eyes. "Do you think," he says, after a few quiet moments, "that you'd want to take my last name? I know you don't have one, now, but I don't want you to feel like you have to take it just because of that, or just because it's a tradition. I know it's less common now than it was when I was a kid, but still. I don't want you to feel any pressure."

"Knowing you don't expect me to take your name makes me more eager to do it, I think," Connor says, "but to be honest, I've wanted to for a long time."

Hank can't help it; he tightens his hand in Connor's hair, easing his head off his shoulder until he can kiss him. "I love you," he says. The time when it was too hard to say, when he was afraid of letting Connor know how he felt, feels very distant. There's just now, just Connor on his lap still teary-eyed and radiant and the bright path of their future stretching in front of them.

"You sure know how to spoil a guy on his birthday," Hank says, several kisses later. "I don't know how you'll top this, when next year rolls around."

"I'll just have to find somewhere with a bigger bathtub," Connor says, "although at some point it would just become a swimming pool."

"The ocean, then," Hank suggests. "We'll need to pick a place to honeymoon, after all."

Connor sighs happily. "That sounds lovely," he says, "although I'm not sure we can have sex in the ocean."

"Not with that attitude, we can't," Hank grumbles. He's not quite sure how saltwater-resistant Connor's components are, but Hank's able to think up several ways they could get creative at a secluded beach. "Anyway, we don't have to decide anything, now." He kisses Connor's neck. "The important decision's already been made."

"I made it a long time ago," Connor says, quietly. "I wasn't sure when to tell you, or how. But I've known that this is what I want for a while."

"Telling me that, asking me to—to marry you," Hank says, "is the best gift you could give me."

"The bathtub's nice, too, isn't it?" Connor asks with a sly smile. Hank knows what he's thinking.

"Honey, it's wonderful, but if we got back in there tonight I would fall asleep immediately and you'd have to manhandle me wet and naked into bed." He holds a hand up to interrupt the inevitable comment about how Connor wouldn't mind that at all, actually. "Tomorrow morning, though. You said we have a late checkout time, right?"

"We do. We should have plenty of time for it."

Hank thinks about the moments he wants to share with Connor in the coming weeks: time spent buying rings together, finding a wedding collar for Sumo, planning a honeymoon. Planning a future. It had been a long time, before Connor, since he'd seen the future as anything to be eager for. He's still getting used to it.

"Plenty of time," he echoes, pulling Connor in for another kiss. "I can't wait."


End file.
